


The First Time

by winchestersinthedrift (vaneharriet)



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Reader-Insert, Young Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaneharriet/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	The First Time

The first time you fucked Dean Winchester he was 21 with candy-green eyes and perfect swollen lips. He’d shown up in your little middle-of-nowhere hometown a couple weeks before and come for burgers at the diner where you were working the summer before your second year of college. He was with his dad and his kid brother that first time. When he came up to the till to pay he’d leaned over with his elbows on the counter and looked up at you with a grin equal parts knee-weakening and hell-raising and drawled ‘heyy there sweetheart’. He’d come in a few other times, usually with his brother, and you’d spent some time over the fryer getting your flirtiest smile down to a science. It was a busy diner and they never stayed very long, but whenever you stole a glance over while you were cleaning tables or making change he’d always be looking back and would wink at you across the room and you’d get queasy butterflies in your stomach.

But you didn’t expect to see him at Ricky Morrison’s keg party, shotgunning a beer and surrounded by a circle of chanting onlookers. As he was crumpling the can in his fist (he had thick fingers that looked like they should be clumsy but weren’t, usually bruised across the knuckles) he caught your eye across the kitchen. You didn’t know if it was the beer or the half-smoked joint he had between two fingers or just the absence of his kid brother, but he was oozing boldness and lack of inhibition, leaning back on his elbows against the kitchen counter while the shotgun challenge went on. He had a senior from the local high school hanging off one shoulder but wasn’t really listening to her, just nodding politely with his attention mostly on scanning the room with an arresting sort of ingrained vigilance.

He was mid-drag when he caught your gaze across the room and he held it through his long exhale over pursed lips and jesus, the guy eye-fucked like nobody’s business: not quite leering, but a look that brought the blood rushing to your cheeks and a tug of arousal pulling at your cunt. He crossed the room to you in four long strides, still without breaking eye contact, and stopped in front of you just inside what was usually your circle of personal space. For a long beat neither of you said anything while he pinched off his joint, looking at you with a wide-eyed half-smile. His gaze dropped to your mouth and he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. You inhaled sharply, unconsciously, and in embarrassment your eyes dropped to his hands.

‘Y’do some roughhousing lately?’ you said, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles, and he took a step closer (god he was close now, you could feel the heat of him through your dress) and cocked his head at you, mouth catching in a crooked grin that was almost a smirk and eyes shining an almost translucent green.

‘No,’ he said, ‘but I’m about to,’ and dipped his head a little and kissed you right there, hard enough that you would have fallen back against the wall if his hands hadn’t caught you across your lower back and pressed you up against him. You opened to him, this stranger smelling of engine oil and weed and Molson beer, and started backing down the hallway, hands on his forearms to make sure he took the hint. He did, stumbling a little over your feet but not breaking off the kiss. His tongue was flicking deep in and out of your mouth now and his lips – those ridiculous sensual lips – were pressing demandingly on your mouth and sucking on your lower lip. You hit up against a door; it swung open, and Dean kicked it closed with one foot and hit the light switch. You were in the Morrison’s laundry room; there was a pile of sheets on the floor and the dryer was humming warmly against the wall, rattling a little when its movement made the pipe housing clatter in its bracket.

Dean pushed you against the dryer, both of you stumbling a little with haste, and slid one hand up underneath the skirt of your dress. He hooked a thumb over the top of your underwear and let it hang there, waiting, still kissing you more thoroughly than you’d known was possible and god, the feel of his lips was like getting drunk for the first time all over again. You moved against him, slight and shuddering, but it was enough; he broke with a desperate urgency, dragging your panties halfway down your thighs and grabbing you around the hips to force you back against the dryer.

You ground against the front of his jeans, trying to pull him right against the ache between your legs (no, not an ache, that was too weak – fire, sharpness, writhing, the acute kind of hunger that makes you shake and feel untethered from the world). He put one palm hard against the dryer behind you and put his head down for a moment, steadying himself. Then he lifted you without warning atop of the dryer and settled you with your knees over the edge, your face at a level where the top of his head just about fit under your chin.

‘Dean!’ you said, scrabbling to slide back off against him; but he held you there, held your hips down hard against the vibrating drum of the dryer and shook his head.

‘Gotta get you ready for me, Y/N,’ he said, huskier than you’d heard his voice before, and before you could protest he kissed you hard enough to drive you back a little over the smooth top of the dryer. You could fell the streak of slick you’d left wet under your thigh. He broke off just enough to speak against your mouth. One hand was playing with your breast and the other slid down your arm to cover your fingers. The whole surface of your skin was tingling, incandescent with the nearness of him.

‘Every time I saw you Y/N – every damn time you walked by – hell I wanted to bend you over that table so bad and – jesus sweetheart, I was hard the whole damn time, got so I’d get hard just driving by that place thinking ‘bout your sweet sexy ass and just feeling all the heat and slick inside you, I wanted to take you down right there on the floor and make you scream my fucking name baby—-‘

You were gasping now and whimpering, bucking gently on the edge of the dryer, and he brought both his hands down between your legs and used his thumbs to part your outer lips and dropped his head and licked, circling, exactly under the hood of your clit.

It was a bolt of such intense sensation that you arched back hard on the hand braced behind you and the deep rumble of the dryer ran up through your arm and into your body and you lost track of where it ended and the trembling in your thighs began. When you looked again his head was buried between your legs, sun-bleached hair rumpled up against your pelvic bone, and his tongue was lapping in hard little circles around your clit and god, he felt good; so good that you instinctively drew your legs up and caught your heels on the edge of the dryer to open yourself further for him. He held the front of your ankles in his hands and spread you a little wider and you lay there nearly spread-eagled, heaving with adrenaline, the rumble of the dryer vibrating through bone and blood and all the things in between.

‘Lay back,’ he said huskily, and you put your head against the instrument panel and reached down between your legs and gripped his hair in your fingers while he pressed his tongue right against your cunt and pushed it in and jesus how long was his fucking tongue because you could feel it right up inside you, pushing and probing, flicking deeply in and out just as it’d done in your mouth a few moments before. He put the heel of his hand firm over your pelvic bone and pressed upwards, pulling the sensitive skin of your pussy stretched up tight around your clit and holding it there while he continued to lick into you below.

You were beginning to edge when he grabbed you round the waist and pulled you back off the dryer, so fucking far gone that you would have fallen if he hadn’t held you up while he kissed you again, put his whole mouth over yours and played his tongue over your lips, swallowed the little moaning pants that were coming now from some level deeper than conscious thought.

‘Can’t wait – anymore,’ he said, between shallow breaths, ragged not from exertion but from the strain of holding himself back, ‘holy christ, Y/N, I need – I needtofuckyounow I can’t – shit –‘ he was literally holding himself still, legs locked and trembling, eyes unfocused and a little wild. ‘Jesus, if I look at you I’m gonna come –‘

He was almost frantic now with need, scrabbling at the back pocket of his jeans. He unwrapped a condom at the same time that you ripped open his fly and you took it from him and hesitated ever so briefly poised over the head of his cock.

‘Are you – is it –‘ you said, and broke off. He furrowed his brow at you, confused, and made a vague noise of bewilderment.

‘It’ll still be good for you?’ you said, weakly, because the last boy you’d been with had hated condoms and you so badly wanted this boy to come hard and glad inside you.

He looked at you in good-natured bemusement.

‘Fuck, Y/N,’ he said, ‘yes it’ll be good for me, if I don’t wear one I’ll go off before I’m inside you k? You’re bloody fucking hot sweetheart.’ You looked at him and he nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and there was a glance between you of shuddering anticipation; you rolled it down over his cock and then he caught your legs out from under you and followed you down into the pile of sheets on the floor.

His arms stayed round you and broke the fall but you rolled a little and then his hands were on both of your upper thighs, pressing you open against the sheets. He pinned one of your knees under his leg and held the other flat against the floor and you were groaning with your head thrown back and rocking into the sheets. He stroked himself once or twice and ran his cock up the wetness of your pussy and then he was done with waiting, scooped your ass up in one hand and thumbed your lips open a little further and pushed inside you with a noise like a drowning man drawing breath.

He still had his shirt on, an old Led Zeppelin concert tee, and you thought for a second about trying to get it off him but there was something obscenely intimate about looking at his fully clothed upper half, face flushed and hair tousled but otherwise seemingly innocent, and feeling simultaneously the wet thickness of him pushing up into your cunt. For the first few strokes he was gentle, feeling you out, gritting his teeth against the impulse to let himself go. You got one hand up and grabbed his face.

‘Hey,’ you gasped, out of your mind from the feel of him not just inside you but holding you open against the floor, ‘go – don’t – just fuck me, harder now now.’

‘Holy fucking shit,’ he said, fervently, and gave you a look you’d remember for sixteen years. He dropped down with his elbows on either side of your head, began to put all his weight behind his thrusts, and you gave a long shaking gasp of a breath and arched your upper body up against him. The world kaleidoscoped down to the way your whole body was drawing up tense and tight around him, the heart-stopping beauty of the boy pounding into you, his cock stroking all the nerves in your body but mostly how with every urgent thrust you felt suffocatingly full in a way that drove all higher functions from your mind. There was only Dean and how badly he wanted you and the low, guttural groans he had started to make close to your ear. He was speeding up now and you didn’t even know what you wanted more, him to come inside you or to hit the edge yourself.

It was hard even to distinguish any longer the difference sources of sensation – his knee still pressed against your inner thigh, the weight of him lying inside your hips and the brush of his balls against your ass, the way the root of his cock sent a swell of pressure up towards your clit with every thrust. There was just the fierce blinding compulsion to have him and to be had. He slowed down a little and you grabbed him by the neck and bucked up against him.

‘Don’t stop –‘

‘Babe I’m gonna come.’ He was gasping for breath, impossibly broad shoulders heaving over yours. ‘Gotta – slow down –‘

‘So come!’ you said, half-laughing against his lips, ‘ come inside me Dean! jesus Iwantyouto.’

He shook his head and kissed you on the mouth.

‘You come first.’

‘Goddammit,’ you said with feeling, around his tongue, ‘it’s a quickie not our honeymoon, I don’t give a fuck if you –‘

‘I do,’ he said, firmly, in spite of his breathlessness. You wiggled your hips underneath him and squeezed as hard as you could and his eyes rolled back a little in his head.

‘Jesus Y/N.’

‘You feel so good,’ you said, ‘all I want all I want is for you to fuck me, please, Dean, please, I promise.’

He had a hand up in your hair now and brushed your lips with his, put out just the tip of his tongue and licked inside your mouth. His hips were jerking a little into yours, involuntarily.

‘OK,’ he said finally, flashing you the same grin you’d fallen for in the diner and lacing the fingers of one hand through yours, against your hair.

This time he shook your entire body, head down against your shoulder, and you brought your legs up and wrapped them around his back. You could see the muscles of his ass and upper thighs, smooth and perfectly drawn but hard and rippling with movement as he worked your cunt, frantic now and getting faster. The visual made you whine and his grip tightened around your fingers. And then he wasn’t so much thrusting from his knees anymore as pumping and rocking from his hips and you tipped your head to look up at his face because you wanted to see it when he came. He was all perfect lines and shadow, jaw thrust forward and working with effort, full lips parted, eyes half-closed in concentration so that his eyelashes nearly touched the freckles over his cheeks. Impulsively you put up your free hand to touch him but just as you moved he put his face down hard into the pile of sheets and yelled, muffled but still loud, and gave a last thrust and rose up on the balls of his hands to drag himself harder against you.

For a moment he stayed like that, panting, his chest heaving just inches from your face. You ducked and licked one of his nipples. He grinned and looked you right in the face while he kneeled back off you, slid the condom off and knotted it and shrugged his briefs back up over his cock.

‘You,’ he said, sliding back down over your body and thumbing a nipple through your dress, ‘look at you, Y/N, all worked up from taking me – you’re right there aren’t you – pink all over and wet and ready to come aren’t you sweetheart – you like feelin’ me come inside you? making me come with how pretty you are – you’re fucking perfection Y/N – and how good you feel on my cock and that little noise you make, prettiest sound I ever fucking heard.’

While he was talking he slipped his hands back under your dress and ran them over your side and down the front of your hips. Then he grabbed you firmly by the waist and flipped you over, scooting down underneath your body so that he could lick and suck at your pussy. You gasped but instinctively pressed down against his lips, the heat of his open mouth and the feel of him tonguing into your cunt. He nuzzled a little to get the angle he wanted and then he ran his tongue up to your clit and formed a seal around it with his lips and sucked. Four long shuddering gasps, in and out, while you ground down against him and then you came on his perfect swollen lips, shaking and keening, his hands gripping your thighs and rocking you through it.

When you’d both sat up he kissed you again, slower this time but just as deep, and then he got up and kicked around in the sheets until he found your panties. There were voices in the hall and he put his hand on the doorknob and hesitated for a second.

‘You won’t be in town long, hey?’ you said, before he had to.

‘No,’ he said, ‘no. My dad’s job’s almost done.’

You tried to make it as easy as you could for him.

‘Well come by before you leave, if you can. For, you know, a burger. Or if you come by near closing time…’

‘Oh,’ he said, and grinned in a way that broke up his whole face, ‘you betcha sweetheart, you bet I can do that.’


End file.
